The Time Between
by foxredwinter
Summary: It is the time between when we face our fears, our loves, life. Here are several women who face their time between. Mrs. Granger, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny
1. The Time Between Worries

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I'm not JKR. **

Seven years ago my daughter left for a world I never knew existed and now she has left to save that world and this one from some evil I cannot even understand. For seven years I have had to learn of my daughter's life through messages scrawled on parchment. At some odd time, usually just after supper, a stately owl would deliver the messages. I would hastily unroll it and find out what that week's events were.

"Dear Mum and Dad…I'm in Gryffindor a house of brave lions and courage…I am so glad I studied before coming here…top grades…" Those first weeks had little to say of friends just books, the library, classes, professors. Then one day, just after the start of November, I opened the window to let in the owl and a gust of cold, sharp autumn wind caused me to shiver.

"Dear Mum and Dad…Harry and Ron…Honestly, they never study!...We are thick as thieves now…Quidditch…" From that letter on, each carried news of the two boys I now know she loves so dearly. Each letter told enough to satisfy a mother's curiosity. Each letter left just enough out to feed a mother's worry. For between the lines written of school and Quidditch there was something haunting her, even then.

"Dear Mum and Dad…Extra time in the library on a special project…Working with Ron and Harry…difficult puzzle to solve…can't say much about it now…tell more later…" That later never came, however, and I was left with my worries.

Over the years I learned to accept that my daughter and her friends were the center of attention and as such fell into the sights of this evil presence. I accepted it as one must any immutable act of fate. My acceptance did not mean I was apathetic. My worries increased and I watched as my daughter became more and more dedicated to this other world's war.

"Dear Mum and Dad…Can't say much about things right now…I'm okay…We're getting there…Ron and Harry say hello…Love you…" Every letter now made sure to say she loved us. She and I both knew each letter might be the last, though such was never stated.

"Dear Mum and Dad…Quite tired…Glad I worked so hard in charms…Love you…Ron and Harry say hello…"The letters became shorter and shorter. The time between owls increased. With each day that passes, my worry grows. In turn I know my husband worries about me.

"Dear, come to sleep now. It is long past time. We have to be at the office early tomorrow. She's doing what she needs to do and we have to do what we need to do. We may not be saving the world, but tomorrow holds work for us too. Come sleep, tomorrow will come with its own worries."

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I wake early and pull my bathrobe over my nightgown. The chill spring morning seems to have sunk into my bones. I go to the kitchen to make some tea. The clouds in the east are just beginning to brighten to a pale purple hue. I reach into the cupboard to find the tea. While my back is turned from the window a small pecking is heard. A bright snowy owl is sitting majestically on the ledge. In the moment between the "Dear Mum" and the "Ron and Harry send their love" I find my daughter has grown up. The morrow has brought its own worries, no longer of a war, but of a wedding. Unlike the worries of the night bringing tears of fear the worries of the morning bring tears of joy.


	2. The Time Between Books & Quaffles

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Just these somewhat plot-less musings..._

* * *

All those years ago I thought I knew everything or that what I didn't know I could find in a book. For years I studied all the aspects of every subject my professors put in front of me. I should have known that it was not enough. Not enough to save the world and not enough to live a life worth saving. 

Before the end of two months at school I know that the books I carried from class to class would be my only friends. I knew that. It would be no different from my Muggle school. Then came the day when my feelings were hurt more than I thought imaginable. The day came when my life was first threatened. The day came when I found something outside of a book. A Halloween where a troll, a bathroom, and two little boys changed my life.

Somewhere between the classes, the studying, the books, these two boys taught me what life is. Not that we were particularly good at preserving our lives. Even now, on the eve of what could end our lives these boys, now young men, teach me so much. Harry is lost in thought, I know he is thinking of Ginny. He denied it when we would ask him, but we know. We stopped asking the obvious and what obviously gives him pain.

Then there is Ron. From the first day we met, I was ordering him around and assuming my superior air. Like most people, he ignored me at first. However, a troll on Halloween can change many things. From that point we evolved. I studied, read, and revised. He pestered, copied, and talked about Quidditch.

There were moments, between the books and the Quidditch where something inexplicable grew. The insecure, lanky glory-seeker and the know-it-all bookworm found something. Somewhere between classes I learned what it was to live. I learned what it was to have something to live for, even when hope seemed lost.

Now, we sit silently knowing within a short time our lives will change, perhaps even end. My hand shakes though my resolve is firm and I try to must all my Gryffindor courage. A cold hand clasps mine in the silence of the blackest of nights.

Between books and quaffles, between bickering children and scared warriors, love happened.

* * *

A fog, whether from spells or the ever natural fog of the Isles, I do not know, seeps into my bones. I do not know where Harry and Ron are and there is a moment where my heart forgets to beat. Between that last heartbeat and the first, faint light a hand finds mine through the dense fog. I know that hand. Between our intertwined fingers a cold metal band is slipped on my finger. I know this hand. Between victorious warriors a love is sealed. 


	3. The Time Between Wars

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine._

* * *

Somewhere between a fateful Halloween night and this dreary sunset on a chill spring day my children grew. Most born during the time of war, one born at its end. For years I watched them grow. 

I know the world sees me as a slightly frumpy, soft, woman whose sole goal in life is to feed her overly large brood. I may be domestic in nature, but nature also gave me enough wits and talent to know what is the state of the world. Having seven children gave me a mother's intuition. Those two make a formidable combination which in good times helped keep those twins in check. Now, in the dark times, it causes nothing but worries and fears.

Like the mother of every soldier gone to war, I sit at home, doing what I can for the side I believe to be right. I watched my sons go to do their part. Each found a place. Some in other countries, some in the Ministry, some in the Order. One though, the youngest, went to war with the name hero already attached to his name.

I know what happens to heroes. Some come home and others become the stuff of legends. Legends don't come home to their mothers. They become songs and stories that are told to children of days long ago. This mother wants her hero to come home.

Then there is the one who stayed. Though she may very well have gone with her brother to join the three heroes. While her body is present and safe in this lopsided home, her heart and soul travels with the boy she loves. I know that look in her eye and I know the steel in her voice. It was the same look and tone found in my eye and voice when I married her father all those years ago.

I see in her so much of myself and it frightens me. I know what would happen to me if anything should happen to Arthur. He is my life and our lives are bound. Even if I went on living, my soul would go with him. I know my daughter feels the same deep bond to her love. If he should perish, the very essence of my only little girl would vanish. She would become a shell and I doubt she would ever fully recover. Strong though she may be, she has put all her strength into this love.

In the darkness my husband's voice comes to me. He has long been in bed as I sit by the window watching and waiting.

"Molly, come sleep. Today is done and tomorrow will come. Let it come in peace. Come dear."

* * *

When only a faint glow filtered through the light curtains I heard a noise below stairs. There was first the noise of a familiar footfall on the stair. Then there was the telltale moan of the bad step. I heard a muffled exclamation followed by a far less quiet, "Honestly, Ron, even in your mother's home you can't manage to stop swearing!" It was in that moment between a familiar annoyance and a young woman's scolding that I knew the future was bright as the voice of my son as he cracked open our door and said, "Mum, Dad, we're home." The new day came in peace. 


	4. The Time Between Dusk and Dreams

It is in the stillness between the moment you are wide awake with my mind running through the day's events and the moment when my eyes close into slumber that I think of him most often. It is during that time that I wonder where he is. I wonder what he did that day. I wonder if he will live to see another day.

In those moments when I am caught half awake, half asleep that I let myself think of the boy I love. I think of the times we spent in school, even before that short period we were dating. I think of quills, Honeydukes, snow in the court yard, pumpkin juice in the Great Hall. All these have some memory for me of the boy I love.

I was the only Weasley born during a time of peace. Yet, since age eleven I have been in the midst of this new war as few others can claim. I know who it is my brother, Hermione, and my love are seeking to kill. He inhabited me and I did his deeds. I know it was not my fault, but I bear a guilt and a darkness no child should hold. Perhaps that is why we fit together so well. He is haunted by the effects of evil just as I am. Where I have light and wholeness, he has gaps and darkness. I have a loving family and a history of knowing who I am and from where I came. He is a veritable orphan from a home without love not knowing his heritage or his birthright. Yet we both have survived evil and intend to do so in the future.

I know my mother worries. I see her glances as I walk out the room or the sigh that escapes her as I sit in the dimming sitting room after supper. I know she questions how we all will survive. How those that do survive will survive the inevitable grief from the losses. I am born of a woman suspended between two wars, a daughter born in the dawn of peace yet a woman made in night of war. We both stand stretched between what was and all that might be.

Perhaps it is that pragmatism born of the time between innocent hope and dark fears that binds us. Perhaps it is a yearning for a time when we will not be haunted by a man determined to extinguish all that we hold dear. In the time between dusk and dreams the perhaps fill my mind. In the time between dusk and dreams fears blend with hopes. In the time between dusk and dreams I think of him. In the time between dreams and dusk I wonder whether my dreams will fade like the light.

* * *

It was in the moment between my dreams and the dawn that I saw him. In the warm, golden glow of the morning light streaming through my window I saw him. In the chair, in the corner he sat. It was in that moment before first light that I no longer wondered, but knew. I knew that he was home and life was going to begin anew. In that moment before dawn I saw my future. 


End file.
